


To Pay Our Last Respects

by Sounddrive



Series: Leave It to The Kids [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Canon Timeline, Character Death, Children, Children of Characters, Crossing Timelines, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Old Age, Original Character Death(s), POV Alternating, POV First Person, Timelines, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sounddrive/pseuds/Sounddrive
Summary: Preparing for a funeral is normal. What's NOT normal is that the night before the funeral of your mother, in the realms of the Arcana, you run into the other kids she's had . . . /from different timelines/.Not only is this group of seven dealing with grief and a whole slew of other emotions: they need to come to terms with their own personal issues.Will they be able to coexist with each other for the time being or will it snowball into an all out fight? Who knows? They, nor Scout, sure don't![Related toThe Path She Pickedseries and sequel toOne Last Time]
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Apprentice/Portia Devorak
Series: Leave It to The Kids [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957813
Kudos: 6





	1. Splashes From an Inkwell [The Cast]

**Iris Nguyen:**

Early 30s. Her father is still alive, leaving the two of them to live with the effects of having lost her mother.

**Shiloh Nguyen Devorak:**

Mid to late 20s. His father is still alive, leaving the two of them troubled by their loss.

**Junior Nguyen & Avery Webber:**

Mid 50s and early 60s, respectively. Lucio and Lyra are both deceased, but Avery’s biological parents are still alive.

**Hải Nguyen Alnazar & Noor Nguyen Alnazar:**

Late 20s to early 30s. Asra and Lyra are both deceased, the former having passed just a few months before their mother did.

**Thomas Nguyen-Devorak:**

Early to mid 30s. Lyra’s passing was completely unexpected, leaving Portia and Thomas in shock.


	2. Chapter I [IRIS]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING: Contains massive spoilers from the latter parts of The Arcana: A Mystic Romance].
> 
> It’s been raining ever since she passed. The first few hours were a downpour. According to some, it was as heavy as the rains from when the Red Plague was still running rampant.
> 
> Now, at least, it’s lessened to a light drizzle. Her funeral is going to be tomorrow afternoon, barring the rains. I hope it does clear up by then . . . she doesn’t need to be buried in mushy mud.
> 
> [Featuring: vesuvianoak's [tumblr account] fan apprentice Ąžuolas and fan kid, Noah, the latter to whom Iris is married to.]

It’s been raining ever since she passed. The first few hours were just a downpour. According to some, it was as heavy as the rains from when the Red Plague was still running rampant.

Now, at least, it’s lessened to a light drizzle. Her funeral is going to be tomorrow afternoon, barring the rains. I hope it clears up by then . . . she doesn’t need to be buried in mushy mud.

I’m alone in The Shop at the moment. It’s been closed since she passed, though outside is a different story. Customers, neighbors, and kind travelers passing through have left offerings of flowers and rain-drenched candles in condolences to my family.

My hands crackle with sparks. I bring my hands up, leveling the heels of my palms close to my lips. I blow, sending the sparks flitting about until they find the wicks of candles in the shop. Once the space is illuminated, I lower my hood, sighing softly.

It looks like the way we left it when we came back from the Dark Forest . . .

I don’t know who’s taking it harder: me, Aunc Asra, or my dad. Asra and Dad have known Mom for years. The stories of how Asra lost it at Mom and Dad’s wedding is still the stuff of legend.

Right now, Dad and Asra are at Great Uncle Bảo’s old shop. Auntie Neha and the funeral director are helping them with things to be finalized for tomorrow. In the meantime, my better half is at his parents’ place, getting dinner ready. Julian and Ąžuolas offered their place for us, my dad, and Asra to spend the night before the funeral.

Dad and Asra declined, opting to be in the forest to be closer to the hut. I know their plan after dinner is to ward the hell out of the forest. As the theory goes, the dark energies suffocating the woods has been cleansed since Lucio was banished to the realms of the Arcana. I know Grandma Khamgalai and the Hermit have been keeping their vigilant eyes on him to make sure he doesn’t pull a stunt like the one that sent Vesuvians fleeing to the Dark Forest in the first place.

I’m still debating whether or not I want to join them for the night. Between the three of us, we haven’t been getting enough sleep. Well, Asra sleeps more than usual, but that’s one of his terrible coping habits. Nadia has been keeping him company on the _really_ bad days. The same courtesy has been extended to Dad, but he’s been walking the length of the city-state.

People have been talking: not only has he been walking the street by himself, he’s been _talking_ to himself. No one knows what he’s saying, but it’s been speculated that in his grief, he’s been talking to Mom. I can’t blame the guy; he was the one that found her.

I vigorously shake my head, my body twinging. The memory of my dad in anguish, holding Mom’s lifeless body in his arms sends goosebumps through my entire body.

I stamp my feet into the floor, dispelling some sparks that had built up within me.

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

_Why was I here again?_

I shake my head, exhaling shakily. I tense and relax my shoulders a few times, grounding myself. I locate a little candle holder and start to ascend the stairs.

* * *

_South End: The Devorak’s Residence_

“Do you guys need anything else?” Ąžuolas stands at the threshold of the guest room, looking at the both of us. Downstairs, Uncle Julian and the rest of Noah’s siblings are cleaning the kitchen.

“No,” I replied, re-tying the bag of stuff I grabbed from The Shop.

“Thanks for checking in on us Dad,” Noah adds, nodding in the general direction of where Ąžuolas stands. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

With a nod, my father-in-law leaves us be.

I check the bag one more time before I lie down to the bed. It’s close to the window. I sit up again when I spot my Dad and Aunc Asra down below. I couldn’t hear much, but they’re talking with Julian. Dad spares a look up my way; I wave, and he offers me a small smile in return.

When Asra places his hat on, it prompts Dad to pull his cloak over his shoulders. With a force field over their heads, keeping the rain off, the pair walk toward the Dark Forest. As they disappear from sight, the rain lightens considerably.

When I lie down again, my husband hugs me from behind.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep, hon,” I murmur, hugging a pillow to myself. “Just giving you forewarning.”

“It’ll be okay,” Noah soothes, rubbing a hand over my shoulder. “If anything, we can have some of Grandma Maz's Pep-Up Soup for breakfast.”

I laugh softly, turning back momentarily to kiss my husband. Returning to my original position, my eyes shift to the crib not too far away from the bed. Inside is our little girl, sleeping away.

“Lucky little thing,” I murmur.

“It’s not Kham’s fault she’s a baby,” Noah replies, chuckling softly. He drapes his arm over my side, hugging me closer. “Still . . . do you want a sleep potion?”

“If I have one now I won’t be able to wake up on time,” I remind him. “I’ll be okay . . . maybe your snores will get me to sleep.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Babe, you do.”

I don’t need to turn my head to know he’s playfully sticking his tongue out at me in reply. It helps me laugh a little. Before long, he’s settled down for the night . . . leaving me with the shadows of the room for company.

I swallow, willing myself to fall asleep. _Please . . . I just want to sleep._

It’s been like this since . . . you know. It’s really fucking annoying. I close and open my eyes repeatedly. Counting chickens doesn’t help either.

The only upside is that I can feel that my husband is snuggled right behind me. I like his presence there. Noah’s not the biggest or strongest guy around, but he loves me for me. I’ve more than once kicked bullies’ asses for picking on him for being blind, but that’s a conversation for another time.

That being said, I’m really glad I’m not going alone to the funeral tomorrow. Aunc Asra said he’d be helping to keep an eye on my dad. Dad hasn’t been the same since. Honestly, who can blame him?

With that thought in my head, I close my eyes. I can _feel_ my body drift to a sort of unconsciousness. My vision warps a bit before sleep engulfs me.

At least, that was what I thought it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment to share your thoughts. [^^]


	3. Chapter II [IRIS, SHILOH]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING: Contains massive spoilers from the latter parts of The Arcana: A Mystic Romance].
> 
> "Iris!" Khamgalai greets, walking over to give me a hug. I gotta bend down really low in order to let her hug me fully. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”
> 
> “Uh, could be better,” I reply, giving her a small smile. Grandma ushers me to the table, having me on one side of her, and the stranger on the other.
> 
> "Iris, this is Shiloh," she points to the newcomer, flashing a smile. "Shiloh, this is my granddaughter, Iris."
> 
> [Featuring: vesuvianoak's [tumblr account] fan apprentice Ąžuolas and fan kid, Noah, the latter to whom Iris is married to.]

**IRIS**

It’s been a while, but I know I’m in the spirit world. It feels real, but the way I walk is a mite slower. When I move, my whole body feels a bit weightless, and so heavy at the same time.

Once I am out of the woods, I finally get my bearings. In the distance is the hut Grandma Khamgalai and Herm have been staying in. It’s never changed, as far as I know.

There’s smoke coming out of the chimney, so I know either Herm or Grandma are in there.

As I continue to make my way there, I look down at where I step. I don’t want to accidentally step or disturb some of the neighbors.

The closer I get though, I start to get a funny feeling. When I’m within reach of the door, I slow my steps, listening.

Inside the hut, I can hear Grandma talking. At first I think it’s to Herm, but then I realize he’s moving around in the hut, cooking something. Grandma would usually be padding around nearby as he did . . . so why wasn’t—?

I hear the Major Arcana’s feet coming my way in the nick of time. I jump out of the way as the door swings open.

“Oh!” Hermit blinks, seeing me on the other side. His starry green eyes are apologetic. “Hello Iris.”

“Hi Herm,” I reply, stepping back to let him come out. As he shuts the door behind him, I ask, “Is there someone else in there with Grandma?”

“Mm,” Hermit nods, sparing a glance behind him before walking on. I follow.

“Wood pile?”

“Mm.”

“Want me to carry or do you want me to chop?”

“Both, if you are able.”

“Of course I’m able!”

We find the wood pile a ways away from the hut. It is really low, which is surprising.

“How’d this happen?” I ask, grabbing an axe nearby.

“The guest in the hut happened,” he replies.

I blink. “Human or demon?”

“Human, like you.”

I pause, setting the axe down again. “I beg your pardon?”

To be honest, I’m not that special: I know there are people that can find their way to The Hermit’s realm, but there are a lot of hoops to jump through in order to even _get_ to this place.

“He’s struggling with a loss, like you,” Herm explains further. I grimace, picking up my axe and getting to work on getting wood for the pile.

It'll be a bit, because I'm unwilling to let Grandma go without while I'm here.

* * *

After The Hermit and I get the wood pile about 2/3rds the way there, we hear Grandma's voice in the distance: she's calling us to come in for lunch.

I trundle after Hermit, feeling sore. Aunc Asra has told me that if I got hurt here, it's not real. I didn't take my body with me this trip at least, but it's hard not to feel a bit beat up.

Like the gentleman he is, Herm opens the door for me. I see Grandma getting the table ready . . . with our guest.

I pause after closing the door behind me. The person is not that tall. They couldn't be much shorter than Aunc Asra, to be honest.

They got a shock of auburn hair, and a face that strikes me as familiar.

"Iris!" Khamgalai greets, walking over to give me a hug. I gotta bend down really low in order to let her hug me fully. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”

“Uh, could be better,” I reply, giving her a small smile. Grandma ushers me to the table, having me on one side of her, and the stranger on the other.

"Iris, this is Shiloh," she points to the newcomer, flashing a smile. "Shiloh, this is my granddaughter, Iris."

"Hi," they greet, glancing at me before looking away sheepishly.

"Hey yourself," I reply, giving them a little wave. After Grandma lightly nudges them, Shiloh returns the little wave.

Soon, Hermit sits across from her, passing bowls of bantan and cups of tea around. When he also sets down a platter of khuushuur, I grin.

“Thank you for this,” I dip my head to the Arcana.

“It’s no trouble,” Hermit rumbles.

“. . . there’s no pork in this, right?” Shiloh asks, looking at the soup suspiciously.

“No there isn’t,” Grandma replies, patting their shoulder. “Dig in! I knew even before you got in here that you look like you’ve hardly eaten.”

Shiloh blushes vividly, already scooping the thick soup into their mouth.

As we’re all eating, I spare a few glances over to this person. Their clothes make me think of someone with refined but flashy taste, if the long sleeves and gold-colored accents were anything to go by. The material isn’t velvet, but it’s sitting heavily over their body.

What I’m really shocked about though, is their magic. Even if it’s pretty subdued, I can feel the cracklings of . . . _something_. Given the fact that Khamgalai made bantan, they’re probably a few hours into getting over a hangover too.

After the stranger finishes their soup, Grandma moves the platter of khuushuur over to them.

“This looks like chiburekki,” Shiloh remarks, looking at the offered food.

"Chiburekki?" I echo. _Why is that familiar?_

"Mhm. A fried dumpling thing." Shiloh picks up one with a wooden fork. They pop it into their mouth, and chew. The khuushuur settles into one of their cheeks as they eat, taking a few moments to savor and chew.

“What’re you in for?” I ask them, chuckling when they’re startled by me addressing them.

After stopping themself from choking, Shiloh swallows, replying with, “I dunno."

I raise an eyebrow and look at Herm. When he shrugs, I look at Grandma.

“Were they the one that got all your wood?”

“Not intentionally,” Khamgalai replies plainly. Shiloh shrinks in their chair, red to their ears as she continues with, “From what I understand, it’s something like this: when he landed in the Hermit’s realm, he got knocked into the wood pile. He smacked into it so hard it scattered to the four winds!”

“How were you drunk before even getting here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Had a night out with your friends?”

Shiloh shifts under my scrutiny, lips pressed tightly together.

“I’m pretty patient, kid,” I forewarn, “I can wait a pretty long while.”

Hermit gets up and leaves us alone. I don’t blame him: these are really weird circumstances. In the meantime, Grandma and Shiloh end up doing dishes together while I tidy up the living area. The two of them exchange a few words here and there. Given Shiloh is stage whispering, I can’t hear much.

After a bit more poking from Grandma, Shiloh finally caves.

“It’s . . . complicated,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He dries his hands and stumbles back over. He seats himself on a low stool.

Slowly, Shiloh leans down, stretching. As he touches the tips of his shoes, Shiloh strategically pops his back. I sit down on a low stool too, settled beside my grandma as Shiloh begins.

He talks about after he went to sleep last night, he woke up in the Arcana realms. When I ask how he knew, Shiloh responds with, “Lamps don’t just grow out of nowhere,” he laughs wryly. “It’s . . . it’s a little fuzzy but I was drinking with this demon I ran into . . .”

* * *

**SHILOH**

_Hours ago, The Hanged Raven . . ._

“ . . . do you get visitors often?” I murmur, nursing my pint of what I think ale in my hands.

“Mm . . . yes and, uh, no,” he replies.

I _mm_ in understanding, trying not to stare. It’s really, really dark in here, but I can make out the outlines of his silhouette. The demon before me . . . he’s humanoid, but massive. From head to taloned feet, he’s covered in black feathers. There's some swathes of dreadfully pale skin—almost _grey!_ —in between rows and rows of said feathers. Thanks to him handing me this pint, I can tell he’s got claws at the ends of his massive hands too.

“So, uh . . .” I look to the ceiling, noting the cobwebs. “Have you been out much?”

“Only to hunt,” he replies. He gestures to some bones in the corner of the room. The sight makes my skin crawl.

There were still some chunks of meat on the osseous matter.

“It disgusts you, doesn’t it?” the demon looks into his massive tankard wistfully. “I know I am . . . I can’t change it however.”

“Hey you need to eat to live,” I reply, taking a swig. As the taste of Salty Bitters collides with the back of my throat, I gag. Shaking my head furiously, I heave a strangled, **_“Oh gods—!”_ **

The demon has a lopsided smile as I dig into my coat pockets, bringing out a handkerchief to hack into. I stuff the cloth into my mouth, trying to soak up whatever remains of the Salty Bitters in my mouth.

“I should’ve uh, forewarned you,” the demon murmurs. “I’ve had them for so long, I don’t taste it anymore. I still feel the effects though,” he laughs, placing a taloned hand over his face.

I spit out my handkerchief, opting to drink out of my canteen of water from then on.

“It’s, _cough,_ okay,” I reassure. “My first drink when I was of age was Salty Bitters. It’s been a while since I had any, haha . . .”

The demon lifts his cup up into open air. One of the ever-floating bottles of Salty Bitters swoops over, filling up his tankard.

“What’re we drinking to?” I ask, steadying the canteen in my hand.

“To better times,” the demon murmurs. He immediately downs the tankard in one go.

It’s after that that I excuse himself, feeling nauseous. This sort of Salty Bitters is far more potent than the ones back home . . .

“Safe travels,” the demon bids me.

As I stumble out, the scenery outside _The Hanged Raven_ has changed. It wasn’t full of red-lit mangroves—

It’s the very edge between a forest and a massive field. I trip, knocking over a wood pile. As I lay on the ground, confused, I decided to sleep it off . . .

* * *

**IRIS**

". . . and that’s how I’m here,” Shiloh concludes.

I stare at him, amazed. I look to Grandma, who looks back at me. Then, together, we look at Shiloh.

“How often do you travel the realms?” I ask, my mind racing.

“Often enough that demons don’t faze him,” Grandma replies.

“What your Gran said,” Shiloh nods.

“Um . . .” I rub my neck, trying to calm down. “That demon . . . did he tell you what his name was?”

“They don’t tend to.”

“Did he look familiar to you?”

“I rarely meet the same demon twice,” Shiloh explains, raising an eyebrow. “Why?"

“Salty Bitters is my father-in-law’s favorite drink,” Iris explains. “Julian Devorak’s his name. The fact you said this-this demon was drinking _so much_ to cope—”

“Wait, what?” Shiloh stares at me. “That’s not possible.”

At this point, Grandma decides to get some water for the three of us. As she leaves her seat, Shiloh repeats that it isn’t possible for Julian to be _my_ father-in-law.

“What makes you say that? Do you know Julian?”

“First off: _everyone_ knows my dad,” Shiloh uses his fingers to mark each of his points thereon. “If my Dad is _your_ father-in-law, you’d either be married to _me_ or one of my siblings, if I had any. Since that isn’t the case . . .” He shakes his head some more, looking like he’s suffering another headache.

I rack my brain, trying another avenue: “Do you know Muriel?”

“Barely. He doesn’t like my dad much, so he tends to stay away unless it’s just my mom and/or Asra around.”

“Is your mom Lyra Nguyen?” I feel a strange weight in my chest. The weight is clammy, fueling my crumbling disbelief in what’s happening.

Grandma finally hands me a mug of water. I set it on the nearby table instead, my eyes flicking between the furniture within the hut, and Shiloh’s face.

“ . . . how . . . ?” Shiloh stares at me, expression matching my own.

We both look to my grandma, needing answers.

“Would Herm know?” I ask her.

“He should have some kind of answer,” Grandma nods. “We may need to wait a while, though.”

“Fine by me,” Shiloh sighs. He drinks his water, thanking Khamgalai. “May I sleep on the floor?”

“Let me get you some blankets young man. Please remove your shoes.”

Shiloh nods, immediately unlacing his long boots. I help Grandma get the blankets down from a storage closet, setting up an area for Shiloh to sleep off his hangover some more.

Pretty soon, he’s out to sleep. As for me, I take a moment to just . . . set my head on the table.

Grandma stands beside me, gently smoothing her hand over my back. “You should sleep too,” she recommends.

“I’ll sleep after we hear from Herm,” I softly reply, resting my chin on top of my crossed-over wrists. Satisfied with my answer, albeit a touch worried, Khamgalai leaves me alone.

The truth is . . . I _do_ need sleep. Damn, forget mourning my mother and all for a minute . . .

I fight off my exhaustion with questions. When Mom was still alive, she said for every question I had, The Magician had about thrice as many in turn for me. It feels that way right now . . .

 _What did Shiloh’s mom see in Julian?_ According to my own mom and dad, he’s a hell of a nuisance at times. This was extremely so when Mom, Dad, Asra and my uncle Julian went into a crumbling Vesuvia to oust the late Pontifex Vulgora.

_Is Nadia still the Countess?_

_Where’s Portia in all this? She’d be Shiloh’s aunt, right . . .?_

_What about Asra? Who did he end up with?_ For some reason, the thought of him travelling all on his own makes me unbearably sad . . .

 _“Not everyone ends up with someone, and that’s okay.”_ Mom always told me that. That was her comforting words to me when I was having difficulty finding a partner I wanted to spend my life with.

Considering Shiloh now, that made me wonder . . .

 _Did Noah exist with Shiloh’s world? Did Uncle Ąžuolas exist? What about Esther and Hazel?_ Having a world without them, it feels so wrong . . .

Before long, I’m fully asleep.


End file.
